


Sherlock (Finally) Observes

by wendymarlowe



Series: John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times [40]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blame Irene Adler, Blow Jobs, Even though she isn't in this fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 21:28:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18374408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymarlowe/pseuds/wendymarlowe
Summary: “John, I… you’re free to say no, of course, but…” He bit his lip. “I really think I need to see you nude.”(Part of my "John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times" series of shorts, all revolving around the same basic theme of "John and Sherlock get sexy for the first time and also discover some kinky stuff about each other.")This one's not all that kinky, in comparison, but...





	Sherlock (Finally) Observes

“It wasn’t her.”

“Yep.” John smirked up at Sherlock’s disgruntled expression and went to put the kettle on.

“But I _saw._ How did she…”

John clapped his flatmate on the shoulder. “Chin up - you still figured out the password to her safe from her measurements, yeah? I’d think that’s pretty firm proof your observation skills aren’t atrophied as much as you think. And back when we first met, you implied sex ‘wasn’t your area’... lying sod.”

Sherlock frowned at him. “I wasn’t lying.”

“By omission, then. Sherlock, you were faced with a naked Irene Adler and came away with _math_ instead of a boner.” _Probably._ Who knew with Sherlock? “Maybe both,” John amended. “I wasn’t exactly focused on the state of your groin at the time. But still - no need to beat yourself up for having misidentified her body. Even you couldn’t have memorized every little dimple and mole.”

“It wasn’t arousal,” Sherlock responded, but John could tell his mind was already elsewhere. “Despite what you think, not all of us lose our capacity to reason when faced with nudity. Even from objectively pulchritudinous individuals.”

“Sherlock.”

“It means _hot._ ” He clicked the final “T” thoughtfully. “Your knowledge of profanity may be extensive, but the rest of your vocabulary still needs work.”

“Fucking wanker.”

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes. And then drew in a sudden breath. “Oh!”

“Don’t tell me you need me to define that for you,” John teased.

“No, it’s…” Sherlock stalked over to the couch and threw himself down on it, propping his feet on the arm without even taking his shoes off. “Mind palace. Interrupt me when there’s tea.”

 _Arrogant bastard._ It’s what passed for “normal” at 221B, though, so John made tea for them both - PG Tips instead of Sherlock’s fancy brand because fuck it, that’s why - and deposited Sherlock’s on the coffee table. He gently shook Sherlock’s shoulder, then relaxed into his own armchair. Sherlock’s eyes flew open.

“Drink,” John told him.

Sherlock eyed the tea but made no move to actually pick up the cup. “We’ve lived and worked with each other for a while now,” he said slowly.

John snorted. “Is that what it is? I assumed I was your maid, secretary, and the short friend who makes you look cooler by comparison.”

Sherlock gaped at him for a moment, then sat up. “John, no! You know I’m bad at these things, but I don’t mean to make you feel--”

“I know you don’t, but you’d be more convincing if you washed a dish every once in a while.” John held his gaze for a moment, then sighed. “It’s okay, Sherlock. It just… is.”

An uncharacteristically hesitant expression crossed Sherlock’s face. “John, I… you’re free to say no, of course, but…” He bit his lip. “I really think I need to see you nude.”

John didn't _actually_ inhale his tea through his nostrils, but it was a close thing. "Um," he sputtered.

"You should memorize my body too, of course," Sherlock continued. "Doesn't all have to be in one sitting. But given the amount and frequency of danger we find ourselves in, it would be prudent to scientifically examine..."

"You want to avoid misidentifying my body?"

Sherlock winced. "It's, regrettably, a possibility in our line of work. As would be you identifying mine. Whatever you would be comfortable with, obviously - I know this 'isn't your area' any more than Irene was mine. Still, we should--"

"Yeah, okay."

He blinked a moment with his mouth still open, like his giant brain was struggling with its own inertia and hadn't yet come to a full stop. "Yes?"

"Yes." John nodded and took another sip. Sherlock hadn't touched his cup yet, he noticed. So much for "interrupt me when there's tea." If it had been anyone else, John would have told them where they could stick their so-called _scientific examination._ This was Sherlock, though, and one couldn't expect propriety. Hell, John would have settled for a series of grunts - one for yes, two for no? - if only it meant he still got to stay in Sherlock's orbit. Getting naked with Sherlock "for science" wasn't _that_ much weirder than some of the other experiments Sherlock had inflicted on them, was it? And if it made him happy… "So," John said. "Want to do that now, or when?"

"Oh." Sherlock was all wide eyes and bewilderment. It felt nice to be the one with the upper hand on what the fuck was going on, for once. "I suppose we could. Now. If you find that acceptable."

Anything that got Sherlock looking like _that_ was "acceptable" in John's book. "Finish your tea," John declared mildly, and drained the dregs of his in one last gulp. "We'll start with above the waist, yeah? Come on up when you're done - my room has better light and I'm not taking my kit off down here where God and Mrs. Hudson would see. Oh - and _wash your mug_."

Sherlock nodded. "That's... okay."

"Good." And John retreated up to his room.

***

The quiet tap on the door came several minutes later. After the sound of the kitchen sink running, surprisingly.

"Come on in," John called. He kept his room tidy as a matter of course, army habits plus a necessary contrast to the clutter downstairs, but he'd spent the time putting away anything Sherlock might deduce anything unsavory from. And then stripped off his jumper, vest, and socks, leaving himself in only boxers and his favorite corduroy trousers.

Sherlock had apparently forgotten to breathe.

"I, um." John laughed a bit to himself. "I assumed by this point you'd snuck in and, I don't know, creepily watched me sleep or wank in the shower or something. Is this really your first time seeing my scar?"

"It's." Sherlock's voice cracked and he padded on silent feet further into the room. "I assumed you'd term either of those things a 'bit not good.'"

"Oh, I would. I do. But when has that stopped you before?" John jerked his head in invitation. "Come sit on the bed before you fall over, you great gangly genius. Want me on my stomach first?"

Sherlock nodded, so John flipped onto his front and laid his forehead against the edge of his pillow. It left enough space to let him breathe without having to turn his head. Sherlock hesitated a moment longer, then the mattress dipped with his weight and he dropped a large, warm palm on John's right scapula. The unblemished one.

“It’s okay,” John mumbled. “I know you want to touch it. Just… no licking my scar without permission, please.”

The long fingers stilled, barely resting on the outer edge of the mangled tissue. “You… is that the kind of thing you’d give permission for?”

“Dunno. Nobody’s ever asked.” John shifted so Sherlock’s hand was centered over his left shoulder and nudged upward in encouragement. “Usually whoever I’m with gets one look and is painfully obvious about pretending to not care from then on. I know you, though. Even if if you felt the same way, you’re a better actor than that.”

Sherlock’s voice was so low it was nearly a rumble. “You do know me, John,” he murmured. “Better than anyone else ever has. Including my parents and Mycroft, even. And you know that there is no way on heaven or on earth I could possibly _not_ want to know everything about you.”

God, that _voice_ … John couldn’t tell whether the shiver that ran through him was a result of arousal or the sheer physics of those baritone vibrations so close to his skin. Because Sherlock was close, definitely - he could feel the man’s breath on his back. _As much as he wants,_ John realized. _I’ll give him as much of me as he wants and then more, if he lets me._

Aloud, he just _hmmm_ ed. “Go ahead,” he prompted. “Right now, I’m yours.”

The very air quivered with anticipation. And then slowly, _achingly_ slowly, Sherlock leaned closer and pressed a kiss to the back of John’s neck.

“It’s mutual,” Sherlock breathed. His lips moved lower, to the space between John’s shoulderblades, for another warm kiss. “I’ve never wanted--” *kiss* “--to belong to anyone before--” *kiss directly over the center of the scar this time* “--but I would be honored to be your friend as long as you’ll have me.” A longer press of lips, in the vicinity of John’s lower thoracic vertebrae. His hands roamed the skin of John’s waist, his sides, his forearms, his biceps. “You are a bottomless fountain of data,” Sherlock continued, “and I want to absorb every. Last. Drop.”

“Christ.” John couldn’t stand it anymore - he flipped over onto his back and dragged Sherlock’s face down for a long, thorough snog. “You, Sherlock Holmes, are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Of _course_ I want you.”

Sherlock’s forehead wrinkled, a sure sign he was having trouble fully processing that. “You want me as a flatmate, or a friend, or--”

“All of it.” John nudged the top button of Sherlock’s shirt free, baring a small triangle of pale skin. “Be honest: when you look at me now, what do you see? The measurements, the math? The deductions about my time in Afghanistan? Or is it more than that?”

“Everything.” Sherlock sat back, his eyes dark. “I… I don’t have words for it all, John.” He glanced downward. “I do have an erection, though.”

It was such a perfectly _Sherlock_ thing to say, but the part of John’s brain that normally dispensed WTFs on Sherlock’s behalf was instead silenced completely by the observation that yes, Sherlock _did_ have a hard-on. Because of HIM. John was in a remarkably similar situation, which Sherlock couldn’t fail to have noticed.

 _Fuck it._ John called on his army combat skills to flip their positions within the space of two seconds, catching the leggy detective by surprise and flattening him back into the mattress. John straddled Sherlock’s waist and focused his attentions on getting Sherlock’s shirt the rest of the way off as fast as possible.

“John?” Sherlock appeared lost and turned on at the same time. It was a new look for him and John wholeheartedly approved.

“This exploratory session is intended to go both ways, isn’t it?” John said. “I think I need to familiarize myself with your anatomy now. All of it.”

Sherlock licked his lips. “Including…”

“May I take your clothes off and fellate you?” John clarified. “I’ve never tried it before - never been inclined to try - but one of the things I love about being with you is the overwhelming plethora of new life experiences.”

It was clear Sherlock’s giant brain was knocked offline entirely at the word _fellate_ , which was exactly what John had intended. The genius’s expression displayed the complete opposite of rejection, though, so John quickly undid Sherlock’s belt and flies and peeled the two halves of his shirt from his torso. Barely-there chest hair, two pink nipples already peaked with desire, hipbones starkly prominent even with Sherlock’s trousers still mostly on. “Yes?” John prompted.

Sherlock nodded twice. “If you… whatever you like, John.”

“Mmmm.” John lowered himself down to deliver a precision lick to Sherlock’s right nipple. His new position meant when Sherlock’s hips bucked, it slid his erection against John’s bare stomach. They both moaned. The mechanics of teasing a man’s nipples were remarkably similar to those for a woman’s, John realized. Except this was _Sherlock_ so the experience was also in no way similar at all. It didn’t stop John from testing every variation he knew and a few he didn’t, kissing and licking and petting Sherlock’s pectorals and sternum and abdominals and - when Sherlock absolutely positively couldn’t hold himself still a moment longer - the trail of dark hair leading down to disappear under the waistband of unsurprisingly silky pants.

“Oh! John, please…” Sherlock’s hand buried itself in John’s hair, urging him downward, then withdrew just as quickly and slotted itself under the small of Sherlock’s back. Like Sherlock had suddenly realized forcing John’s face into his crotch was perhaps bad sexual etiquette.

 _Oh, like he cares about etiquette NOW._ John smirked to himself and nuzzled Sherlock’s cock through the thin fabric. Sherlock sucked in a long gasp and held it.

“Breathe,” John urged, and licked through the silk before Sherlock could comply. The result was a strangled groan instead. “Tell me if I’m doing this wrong?”

“You’re doing it right. You’re doing it entirely, precisely, exquisitely, incomparably right. _John._ ”

Well if _that_ wasn’t a boost to the ego… John backed off long enough to tug Sherlock’s trousers and pants down to his thighs, then took a moment to plan his attack. Didn’t take a brain of Sherlock’s caliber to figure out what to do, which was good because John’s grey matter was definitely working at less-than-full capacity. It was a pleasant realization, actually, that haptic feedback was so easy to deduce. Case in point: Sherlock’s cock was erect, his foreskin almost fully retracted, and his glans was already shiny with precome. John leaned forward and licked it before he realized what he was doing.

 _God, that’s good._ A different taste than going down on a woman, but the lack of stray pubic hairs in the mouth was a definite plus. John slid his lips carefully over the glans and a bit of the shaft.

“Oh!”

John reached up blindly and squeezed Sherlock’s hand. _It’s okay._ Sherlock shuddered. “Tell me,” John gasped, pulling off just long enough to speak. “What do I--”

“ _John._ John Johnjohnjohn _PLEASE_ John, yes, John…”

 _Oh hell yes._ John redoubled his efforts to drive everything except his name from Sherlock’s vocabulary. It didn’t take long. Sherlock with even less verbal filter than usual was truly a phenomenal sight… sight, and sound, and taste, and smell. He kept making abortive motions, squirming under John’s tongue and then stilling himself with a whimper before inevitably shifting again. The whimpers grew louder and louder until--

“JOHN!”

The sudden mouthful of semen caught John by surprise. He pulled off, gagging a bit, but Sherlock was clearly beyond noticing. John looked up his long body to see the bloody gorgeous man clenching both hands in his hair, back bowed, mouth open, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling. It was the best thing John had ever seen, and he briefly wished he had his own mind palace to store the image for eternity.

The vision persisted only until Sherlock collapsed into the mattress and turned his quickly-sharpening gaze to John’s face. “Up,” Sherlock demanded. He tugged ineffectively at John’s shoulder, urging him to crawl upward and then blatantly pressing John’s face into the side of his neck.

“Sherlock.”

“Hush. Wait.” He paused. “No, don’t wait. Strip. I find myself with a sudden, burning need to collect a much wider range of data from you. As soon as…” He yawned. “Soon as I can feel my extremities again.”

John thumbed the zip of his jeans open and kicked them off the foot of the bed, then grabbed the duvet and pulled it up over the both of them. He could wait, he decided. Sherlock falling asleep was a minor miracle of its own. Sherlock sleeping sexually sated and mostly naked, demanding a naked John cuddle him as he dozed…

_Yeah, I could get used to this._

Beside him, Sherlock started to snore.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure whether this will get a second part or not, hence posting it as a single-chapter fic. I wanted to get this out while at 221B Con, though, since I'm here :-)


End file.
